At first I didn’t think she liked me.  There was minimal eye contact and she never smiled, or greeted my entrance.  But as days have passed, and she saw that I would actually show-up each day, and care for the kids, her demeanor has melted. 

Mrs. Evelyn lives across the street from the Midtown Center, a small white building, less than three blocks from our house (plus a short-cut the kids taught me, which cuts off another 200 yards).  I never knew it, but it was Mrs. Evelyn’s garden I’ve been admiring all these months, and her husband who seems to be perpetually picking weeds, or watering it.  She’s tall and weathered and sings in the choir at her church on the west side.  I can’t figure out if the kids respect Mrs. Evelyn, or are down right scared of her, but either way, she knows how to keep cuss words from leaking and a pair of pants from leaving the waist.  

Mrs. Evelyn and another volunteer, Mr. Allen, have volunteered their 4-6pm hours at the Center every school day for the past ten years.  And since some racism issues hit home for me recently (see former post: “We Tend to be Racist”...particular “Taheera's”—it's gorgeous and inspiring), this is where I’ve been spending my afternoons, too.

In short, I had plans for change and influence in our transitional neighborhood, but God has more expansive ones.  My house was the basis of my plans; a neighborhood Center was the basis of His.  And the ways in which I’ve already been changed and influenced, since transitioning from post #1, seemed worth writing down, so here you have it.

Inventing a new wheel may not be as prosperous as partnering with the ones in place.  Most days on my way to the Center, I wonder where the Center has been all my life—or at least the last year of it?  And then I wonder why I didn’t involve myself earlier?  Was it pride and selfish ambition, or control and the comfort of leading things my way and on my own turf?  Bits of those ingredients probably all played in.  And through a hurtful pruning process, God has revealed them to me and released them from me, in such a (redemptive) way that I would’ve never authored myself.  I’m quicker to pray now, “God, help me see and participate in what You’re already doing around me,” rather than ambitiously aiming to do something myself.  And I’m quicker to remember that although it’s not always the easier way, we works better than me, us works better than I. It seems Scripture was right in talking about us as a body, made up of many unique parts, and severely incapacitated when striving (even with virtuous motivations) to do life alone.

Submission is a gift.  Although I knew I was under the wise and kind authority of God and Micah before, being under black leadership has been humbling and eye-opening, to say the least.  Honestly, it’s been its own classroom for me.  Styles of discipline, language and leadership are worlds apart from what I’m accustomed to.  And yet, to stand alongside and learn from these people in their intimate expertise with Black culture feels so true, honorable, just, pure, lovely, commendable, excellent and worthy of praise, so I shall keep thinking about these things.

Vision for a changed neighborhood and lives has already proved itself as more fruitful via the structure of the Center.  We serve a meal from Second Harvest Food Bank and spend the remaining hour tutoring kids and helping with homework.  Although spontaneous meals, art camps and reading time happened in our porch and yard, this environment has proved far more productive, in various senses.  And no longer finding kids daily on the porch for playtime, or a popsicle, means my boundaries have been easier to define and when kids do come, I find myself with more space to be excited and willing toward them.

Parents are the bridge to changing children.  Working at the Center means getting daily interaction with the few parents (usually single moms) who pick-up their kids come six o’clock.  Not only have I learned things about the kids via noticed patterns of their parents, but I’ve been able to gain influence from the ones who really hold the influence.  No matter how awful, or abusive, or even absent, a parent is, children always share a bond with them like no one else.  The safety of being childlike stems from biological security sought in mommy and daddy.  So if I’m praying toward change in children’s lives around me, I must spend time with their parents—and this wasn’t a priority for me before.

We’re all racist at some level.  If you don’t believe me, ask God who and how you tend to judge people from another race than your own.  I don’t say that as a dare, but as a deep conviction that racism started way back at the Tree, and the DNA that shifted that day is still multiplying, and needing to be set free.

Racism isn’t simple.  The Help is a much talked about book and movie out right now that I would highly recommend on this subject.  God tells us over and over that unity (not uniformity) is of His highest priorities. So although racism runs deep and may never be a simple concept to understand, it must be/come a high priority on our ceaseless road toward repentance.

God is good, and in all things, even the painful and heartbreaking ones, He is working together with those who love Him to bring about ultimate good.